Two Clouds at Morning
by BellaMonte
Summary: Challenge Fic: Not long after adopting Frodo and bringing him to live at Bag End, Bilbo comes to discover that his nephew suffers from terrible headaches. CHAPTER 2: A Close Call
1. Default Chapter

Title: Two Clouds at Morning  
  
Author: BellaMonte  
  
Rating: PG   
  
Disclaimer: I own not any of the characters made reference to in this story.   
  
Summary: Not long after coming to live with Bilbo, Frodo begins to suffer from bad headaches. As the headaches begin to grow worse, Bilbo fears that there is more his nephew's distress than he initially thought.   
  
A/N: This story was inspired by Shirebound's challenge fic, which included a Frodo suffering from bad headaches and Bilbo there to give him comfort. It is my first Frodo Healer's fic, so please be kind and let me know what you think of it.   
  
Any references on the treatment of headaches will be taken from confirmed medical information on causes, symptoms, etc. The drink 'willow-bark' will be used, and it is one of the earliest sources of a well known medicine, aspirin.   
  
~*~  
  
Bilbo puffed out an exhausted breath as he struggled to carry two sacks and a basket of food into Bag End, while at the same time reading off his list of ingredients for chestnut soup.   
  
'Let's see, two onions thinly sliced, two carrots diced, cream, pepper,' Bilbo glanced down at the basket slipping from his fingers, checking to make sure he'd remembered all those items. Onions, carrots, cream, pepper, yes they were all there.   
  
It would be a waste if he'd forgotten anything. He and Frodo had been invited to his cousin Dora's for supper, and he wouldn't have time to make it back to the market if he'd forgotten anything in the chestnut soup and mushroom pie he promised to bring.   
  
"Frodo!" he called, dumping the two heavy sacks of food on the table. "I'm back!"   
  
When no answer came, Bilbo imagined the lad must've gone out to enjoy the beautiful day. He only hoped that he would get back before they had to leave.   
  
As he began pulling out the onions and chestnuts, he heard a weak, "I'm here, uncle," from the other room.   
  
"So you are home!" he said, following the small voice into the den, where he found his nephew curled up on the couch. "There you are, I'd thought you'd gone out." Bilbo rounded the couch, and then paused to see that Frodo looked to be asleep. His head rested on a pillow, and his eyes were firmly closed.   
  
"Tired, lad?" he asked, softly.   
  
It was a bit of a surprise to see Frodo napping during the day, that was something he would usually do.   
  
If Frodo was too tired to help him simmer the mushrooms, that was all right. Bilbo knew he'd had an exhausting last few weeks, consisting of a trip to Brandy Hall and then returning to visit several of Bilbo's relatives in Hobbiton, all who had been eager to meet his young nephew that had only been living with him a few months. It didn't take much to fall in love with the lad.   
  
Bilbo didn't blame Frodo one bit for taking a nap before they went out again that evening.   
  
Reaching for a quilt on a nearby chair, Bilbo began to drape it over him when the boy's eyes opened just a bit. "No," he whispered, his voice sounding parched. "Please don't, uncle. I'm not uncle."   
  
"Frodo, what's wrong?" he asked, crouching down so that he was at eye level with the boy. Brushing back the dark curls that shadowed his eyes, he placed a warm palm on his brow. Well, he wasn't feverish, Bilbo thought with relief, though he did look very pale and peaky. "Are you feeling all right?"   
  
"No. It's my head...it really hurts."   
  
"Does it," Bilbo said, his voice soft with concern.   
  
"Mmm-hmm," he murmured, burrowing his head deeper into the pillow.   
  
"Aw lad, I'm sorry. Here, let me get you a drink," he offered, rising up from beside the couch. "It contains willow bark, and it's known to help with headaches."   
  
But Frodo shook his head, the movement causing him to grimace.   
  
"No, uncle, please don't. I hate that stuff, I've had it before. It's tastes so awful."   
  
"I know my boy, but it can lessen the pain."   
  
Frodo grimaced again, Bilbo didn't know whether out of fresh pain, or the thought of the bitter drink, but he nodded.   
  
With a heavy sigh, Bilbo went back to the kitchen and began to prepare the drink. He wasn't going to push Frodo to go to Dora's if he wasn't feeling well, but he really didn't want to upset Dora with their absence. Cancelled plans was one of Dora's greatest peeves.   
  
Returning with a mug of the hot liquid, he was relieved to see Frodo sitting up, though he had a hand pressed tightly against his head.  
  
"I put some honey in it to help take out the bad taste," Bilbo said, as he continued to stir the drink. "Now where does it hurt?" he asked, sitting down beside him and placing the cooling mug in the boy's hands.   
  
"You mean besides my head?" Frodo asked, with a faint grin.   
  
Bilbo chuckled. "Yes, naturally that was the place in question, but where exactly? Sometimes knowing where it hurts can help figure out what caused it, and how to help it."   
  
Frodo shrugged. "It's hurts all over, really. But mainly in the front, right behind my eyes." Again, the large, blue eyes closed painfully, and his head dropped onto Bilbo's shoulder. "It feels like the front of my head is going to explode."   
  
Bilbo's frown deepened, and he urged the boy to take another sip. "Perhaps you've been reading too much," he said,  
  
stroking the boy's curls, and at the same time kneading his head. "Maybe it be best to rest your eyes for a while."   
  
Frodo agreed with another, "Mmm-hmm."   
  
At a sudden thought, Bilbo smiled, humorously. "You know, if not for the mushrooms I bought, I'd say you were trying to get out of going to Aunt Dora's tonight for supper."   
  
At the word 'mushrooms,' the tired blue eyes widened and he looked up at his uncle. "You're making mushroom pie?" he asked, disregarding the joke for the sake of his favorite food. He was used to Bilbo teasing him for his former reputation as a prankster in Brandy Hall. He knew his uncle had been waiting for him to resume the habit here.   
  
"I planned to," Bilbo replied. "Aunt Dora invited us to come to supper tonight, and I offered to bring chestnut soup and mushroom pie. But we don't have to go if you're not feeling well."   
  
For a moment, eagerness flittered across the pale face, but it was quickly replaced by pain. "I...I don't know, uncle," he said, his voice apologetic as he dropped his head on his uncle's shoulder once more.   
  
The fact that Frodo was admitting freely to feeling badly was enough for Bilbo to understand that he was in real pain. It usually took a lot for his stubborn nephew to admit being sick. And the fact that he was passing up mushroom pie worried him more than anything. Even with his small appetite, mushroom pie was the one food Bilbo never had to cajole him to eat.   
  
"Maybe if it doesn't hurt so much later..."   
  
Bilbo nodded in agreement. "Yes, my boy. How about we wait it out. Your aunt doesn't want us until later anyway. Now," he added, taking the empty cup from Frodo and placing it on the table. "Let's get you to your own room."   
  
Frodo nodded without protest as his uncle gathered him up in his arms and carried him to his bed. Laying him on the soft mattress, Bilbo drew the curtains shut so the room was as dark as possible.   
  
"I'll just be down the hall if you need anything. Have a good rest."   
  
Frodo mustered a weak smile as he burrowed his face deeper into the pillow.   
  
But Frodo wasn't feeling better later. After an hour of preparing the chestnut soup and mushroom pie, Bilbo went back to check on him. If they were to make it to Dora's on time, then they would have to leave soon. To his dismay, Frodo's headache had not abated.   
  
"You can go, uncle, I'll be all right," the boy mumbled from beneath the covers.   
  
Bilbo shook his head, firmly. "No Frodo, I wouldn't think of it. Besides, I think she's really invited us for a chance to get to see you again. It would sort of defeat the purpose to have her boring old cousin," he said. He was relieved when Frodo laughed, lightly. "Is there anything I can get you? Some water maybe, or how about a few mouthfuls of the mushroom pie? It's just beginning to cool."   
  
"Maybe...some more of that bark stuff?"   
  
"Of course," Bilbo answered, smiling, though his concern was secretly growing. "Just give me a few minutes."   
  
Back in the kitchen, Bilbo prepared some more of the drink. He didn't have much more willow bark in storage, for he didn't often get headaches, and those that he had never lasted long.   
  
As he waited for the water to boil, he chewed on his lip, wonder what might have prompted such a bad headache. He hoped Frodo wasn't like his aunt Pimpernel, who had such a sensitive head that anything from worries over what to make for dinner, weather changes, too much light, and food could all prompt a headache. Or maybe it was nothing, and Frodo had just stayed up too late last night reading.   
  
A sudden knock at the door broke Bilbo out of his wandering thoughts, and he opened the door to Hamfast Gamgee,   
  
"Thank you for the firewood," Bilbo said, as Hamfast stacked the fresh logs by the door. "I don't mean to bother you so close to supper, but would you be able to run to my cousin Dora Baggins, and give her the message that Frodo and I won't be coming tonight?"   
  
"Of course, sir. May this be the third night in a month that she's invited you over?" Mr. Gamgee asked, with a curious frown. Up until Bilbo had adopted Frodo, it had been virtually unheard of for his master to respond to dinner invitations.   
  
"The fourth," Bilbo said, with a small grin. "Frodo's aunt's grown quite a liking to him, and I'm afraid she might be attempting to adopt him from me in a few months. Perhaps it's better we don't go tonight."   
  
"Is everythin' all right?"   
  
"Yes," Bilbo said, offhandedly. "It's just that Frodo's had a bad headache all afternoon, and he's not really up to going."   
  
"Ah, I see. Did you give him willow bark? There be something that helps with head pain."   
  
"I did. Though it doesn't seem to be helping as much as it should, for he's asked for another dosage."   
  
Hamfast nodded. "Well, I hope he feels better 'n the mornin' sir."   
  
"So do I," said Bilbo under his breath after bidding Hamfast a good night. It had been four months since he had adopted Frodo, and almost every night his devoted nephew had chosen to sit up with him at night, reading, while he sat and wrote by the fire. It would be hard to work tonight without his comforting presence, Bilbo thought, as he finished preparing the second cup of willow bark and headed down the hall to Frodo's room.   
  
Bilbo paused in the doorway, and smiled in relief to see the pale face peeking out from beneath the covers, peacefully lost in sleep.   
  
TBC  
  
Shall I continue? I've got a plot for this story planned, but it could stand alone as a story right here. Please be my guide and tell me what to do. In other words, please read and review! :) 


	2. A Close Call

Title: Two Clouds at Morning  
  
Author: BellaMonte  
  
E-mail: bellamonte@aol.com  
  
Rating: PG  
  
Summary: Not long after adopting Frodo and bringing him to Bag End, Bilbo begins to notice his young nephew suffers from terrible headaches.   
  
Disclaimer: I own not the characters, they are the property of one J.R.R. Tolkien.  
  
A/N: Greetings to all you migraine sufferers out there! (Shirebound, Gentle Hobbit, etc., I sympathize!) Sorry this took so long to get up, I've been busy planning out the story and researching a bit more into the symptoms, etc. of migraines, so updates will be a bit more frequent now.   
  
Just as a summary, this story will be primarily a history of Frodo's battle with migraines over a certain period of time, and Bilbo being there to take care of him. The headache in the first chapter was not a migraine, just a very, very bad headache. In the story, he'll be burdened with headaches with different degrees of severity, as is often the case with migraine sufferers.   
  
~*~  
  
Shirebound: "I'd love for you to continue as long as Frodo eventually finds ease, and gets lots of comfort and understanding (or not)": LOL! (BellaMonte nods head guiltily) All right after Treasures, I deserve that. But be rest assured, this story will be about a well-grounded relationship between Frodo and Bilbo, and the angst will be external forces that only serve to bring them closer. So no heavy Frodo/Bilbo angst in this one. :)  
  
Gentle Hobbit: Gentle Hobbit, please do! As I've researched, migraines vary with each individual in severity, triggers, etc. and therefore effect everyone differently. I've only had two migraines in my time and they were years ago, random headaches due to barometric pressure, caffeine withdraw and tension are what I usually get. I'd love to hear your story.   
  
Tinimaus: "Please, please, please continue!": Hey Tinimaus! Sowwy it took so long!   
  
Camellia Gamgee-Took: "Leave it here and I swear I will come after you with my small army of hobbits": As I ran from your army of hobbits and avoided getting your pitchfork in my backside, I wrote this as fast as I could! Enjoy!   
  
Frodo Baggins of Bag End: Thank you so much for the lovely review! Your encouragement got me to post on FrodoHealers. :)   
  
Chapter 2: A Close Call  
  
Frodo woke later that evening feeling much better, and to Bilbo's delight was eager for something to eat.   
  
"If only you left this many dishes for me every night," Bilbo said with a chuckle as he set a second bowl of potato soup in front of him. "But it's no wonder, I suppose. You didn't eat anything after second breakfast, did you?"   
  
"No, but I would've had some even if I still did have the headache," Frodo said, taking another sip of the thick broth. "Your potato soup's the best. I love when you make it."   
  
Bilbo smiled, and poured the last of the soup into his bowl. "I know you do. But what's this, didn't they make potato soup at Brandy Hall?"   
  
"Not often," Frodo admitted, his mouth half full with a piece of bread. "The hobbit children had this one cook make most of our meals during the day when we had our lessons. She had a great love for chicken, and you could bet that four out of the seven days of the week, it would be chicken that would be on our plates. It grew sort of tiresome after a while."   
  
"I would think so!" Bilbo exclaimed, sitting down across from him at the table.   
  
"Yes. We couldn't deny that she'd perfected all forms of making chicken, though. Chicken soup, chicken sandwiches, breaded chicken, it went on."   
  
Bilbo chuckled, already making a list of dishes other than chicken that he could slide in front of the boy.   
  
"Then I'll make sure not to make chicken for a while - oh, that is," he added, mischievously, "Unless you are dreadfully missing the taste of it in your mouth."   
  
Frodo shook his head with a grin. "No, that's all right uncle. I think I'll have to spend some time getting the left over taste of it out of my mouth first."   
  
~*~  
  
To Bilbo's relief, Frodo did not complain of any further headaches the next few days. In the splendid weeks that followed, the incident was all but forgotten.   
  
Together they took their walks about Hobbiton and Bilbo filled in the gaps to stories he'd previously told Frodo, and had missed details in the first telling. His nephew had turned out to be an excellent walking companion, though he occasionally tired his old uncle out when he insisted they always explore a bit farther than the trip before. Yet Bilbo found it hard to refuse him, and with each new hill they passed they bumped into neighbors, curious to meet the new face in Hobbiton.   
  
At first Bilbo had feared such introductions, knowing how his neighbors would be quick to scorn the nephew of Bilbo Baggins, who was also half a Brandybuck, a clam of hobbits that lived primarily near the Brandywine river. To the neighbors surprise, but certainly not Bilbo's, Frodo was such a cheerful and exuberant lad that even the most suspicious walked away rather charmed by him.   
  
On their next visit to Dora's, their cousin brought up one of their most anticipated dates when she inquired as to whether they planned to have their birthday party together. After all, they shared the same birthday, September 22nd.   
  
"Why, of course not!" Bilbo exclaimed, forcing his expression into something scornful. "I plan to have my party as I always have, thank you very much, and lock this one in the back pantry."   
  
"Why Bilbo, that's awful!" Dora cried, nearly choking on her tea and completely missing the sarcasm in his voice.   
  
Frowning, Bilbo glanced at Frodo, worried his attempt at humor had in fact completely failed. Frodo, who sat in a lumpy chair across the room, was too busy to covering his mouth in an innocent suppression of a grin.   
  
"You're such a brute sometimes," Dora admonished, taking another sip of her tea. "Goodness knows why the lad puts up with you. You'd better start treating him better, otherwise he might choose to come with his Aunt Dora instead," she added, sending Frodo a sympathetic smile.   
  
Bilbo stifled a second chuckle as he resumed a more serious tone.   
  
"Forgive me, Dora, I was only joking. Of course Frodo and I will have our birthday party. The occasion is one of the reasons I persuaded Saradoc to allow me to adopt the lad, so we could celebrate together."   
  
"Well, that's good," she said, her face a bit pink.   
  
"Uncle, could we invite Gandalf to come too?" Frodo asked. "I've yet to see his great fireworks that you always talk about."   
  
"We'll see, my boy. I unfortunately cannot tell when Gandalf will show up next. He's much like the rabbits in our garden, it's up in the air as to when he will show up. Though his visits are a bit more welcome than the pesky rabbits raiding our vegetables."   
  
This brought a good laugh to the both of them. Meanwhile, Dora sighed as she nibbled on her tea cake, earnestly hoping that this precious boy wouldn't start taking on his uncle's peculiar habits.   
  
Perhaps it was better she didn't know the lad would have liked nothing better than to be like his strange, loving uncle.   
  
~*~  
  
"They look like oddly shaped apples, don't you think?" Frodo asked, peering at the vegetable dangling in Ponto Burrow's hand.   
  
"No, Frodo, they're radishes. They grow very differently than apples, in the ground instead of a tree, and they taste rather spicy."   
  
Frodo smiled. "I've had them before, I was just making the observation."   
  
"Ah I see. So what's your uncle intending to make?" Ponto inquired, placing the vegetables in the sack.   
  
"Bilbo's going to make a vegetable stew tonight. He asked me to get," Frodo paused to examine the list. "Eggs, bread, apples, mushrooms. I already got those. Now I just need carrots, celery and tomatoes."   
  
Frodo expelled a sigh of relief as he finished off the list. So Bilbo had in fact been teasing him when he'd suggested chicken soup for supper.   
  
"That's quite a list for one trip to the market," Ponto observed.   
  
"Yes, well Bilbo's decided to stock up on food just in case we get snow soon."   
  
"Aw, I'd tell 'im not to worry about that," Ponto said, as he deposited the last of the radishes in the sack. "It's still early November, and we'll most likely be safe from a serious blizzard for at least another month. And also Frodo, what's wrong?" Ponto broke off in his sentence and frowned as the young hobbit's face suddenly screwed up, and he brought a hand up to rub vigorously at his eye. "Are you all right?"  
  
"Yes," Frodo said, automatically. He'd just felt a sudden stab of pain in his left eye, the same eye that had been twitching slightly since that morning. "Just have something in my eye."   
  
Ponto nodded. "So is Master Baggins planning to send you now to the market?"   
  
"I'm not sure. I sort of asked to come, he had business today...." Frodo trailed off, as he recalled his uncle's dreaded trip to visit the Sackville-Bagginses this afternoon. Also, the pain behind his eye was growing a bit worse.   
  
"Well, I'll just get these ready," Ponto replied. "No need to go to the other stand for the carrots and celery, I can get you some from the back."   
  
"Thank you," Frodo said. As Ponto left for a moment to collect the rest of the vegetables he took the moment to lean against the stand, and pressed a palm to his brow. What had started earlier as a dull, almost nothing throb was starting to quickly lace through the whole front of his head.   
  
Frodo groaned, softly.   
  
Not again.   
  
This was just how the one he'd had a few weeks ago had started. The only difference was that last time, he'd awoken in the morning with a slight headache and it had gradually worsened as the day wore on. This one was coming on fast, and as he opened his eyes, flashes of flourescent lights started to appear as though he'd been hit.   
  
Blinking repeatedly for a few seconds, the lights slowly began to fade. The pain unfortunately didn't.   
  
'It's the bright sun,' he decided, rubbing his eye again. Although it was a chilly day, the sky was clear and the sun was awfully bright.   
  
Ponto soon returned, and handed him the last of the items.   
  
"Well, I shall see you next week then," Frodo said, managing a polite smile as he eased away from the stand.   
  
At first, the trip back to Bag End wasn't so bad. His eyes were still hurting and seemed strangely sensitive to the light, but it was only after he crossed the bridge that the pain started to grow steadily worse and the lights started to come back.   
  
Halfway back, Frodo paused to sit down and buried his head in his hands.   
  
"Not again," he groaned, his heart beginning to race with frustration. He hated getting these headaches. He just hated it.   
  
Frodo hadn't told Bilbo, but he used to get headaches a lot when he still lived in Brandy Hall. It hadn't been anything important to speak of though. His relatives had certainly never taken his complaints seriously, especially when their own children would come down with the flu or they themselves would be stricken with an illness. Compared to his cousins vomiting all over their sheets or having high fevers, the sight of Frodo pressing a hand to his head just didn't evoke the same amount of worry or care.   
  
After a while, most of his relatives would dismiss his frequent complaints as him faking it to get out of lessons or activities. He'd learned to just retreat to his room and rest quietly whenever the stabs of pain started to attack him.   
  
Frodo groaned again. What he thought had been painful throbbing in his head before was now becoming an incessant pound. It felt as though large hands were rhythmically beating down upon his brow and against his temples.   
  
Finally, as the pounding became almost unbearable, Frodo stood up, swaying slightly.   
  
He had to get home, and quickly. For unlike Brandy Hall, he had an uncle now who was kind and attentive and would be concerned as to what was wrong. And while that was a comforting thought, he knew Bilbo was going to be tired and irritated when he got back. His uncle had already warned him that morning to keep a cautious distance from him if he returned with left-over nerves from his rotten relatives.   
  
Frodo staggered a little as he continued down the road. He had to find some way to cure himself before his uncle made it home!   
  
Thankfully, the trip from the market was a short one and he was able to make it back to Bag End in a short amount of time. Dropping the sack of vegetables onto a nearby table, Frodo headed into the kitchen and promptly fixed a wet rag to place on his forehead. Since the second half of his trip back, the pain had begun to make him feel dizzy and the cool rag helped to stop the spinning in his head.   
  
For a while he remained bent over the table, periodically wetting the rag and pressing it up against his forehead and over his eyes. Though it helped to clear away some of the nausea, his head continued to pound relentlessly, and he decided it would be best to lay down and perhaps sleep it off. After plenty of practice in Brandy Hall, he'd learned that was often the only real cure for ridding himself of the pain.   
  
Upon entering his room, Frodo removed his coat and plopped down on his large feather-bed.  
  
Good. He'd made it. Now, if Bilbo came back before he was better he could just say that he was tired and had decided to take a nap.   
  
Pulling a loose sheet over him, Frodo laid his head on the pillow on the side that hurt more. His eyes screwed up against the relentless ache. It hurt so badly now, he could barely feel the soft pillow cushioning his head.   
  
'Please go away,' he chanted to himself. 'Please just go away.'   
  
~*~  
  
"Frodo! Frodo lad!" his uncle's voice penetrated the warm, fuzzy blackness.   
  
Frodo cracked his dry lids opened, and blinked blearily against the last remains of sleep. It was still light in his room, but now his brown walls glowed with the golden shine of late afternoon sun. He must have finally dozed off, after restlessly tossing back and forth for a while.   
  
Lifting his head a bit, a great relief sank into him. His headache was gone!  
  
Well, not completely. Sitting up, he was hit by a mild wave of dizziness, and it still hurt a little behind his eyes. But it was a soft, dull ache, and nothing in comparison to before. Now, his head just swum a little and he felt very tired.   
  
Frodo heard his uncle call him again, and quickly he scrambled out from beneath the sheet so not to alarm his uncle again, when there was nothing wrong. As he headed down the hall, he tried to straighten out his rumpled clothing.   
  
Bilbo was putting his coat away in the hall, and scrubbing his face when Frodo entered. He realized that his uncle hadn't been joking when he said an encounter with the Sackville-Bagginses took a lot out of one. Bilbo looked tired and drained, though his brightened when he saw Frodo coming into the hall.   
  
"Ah, there you are my boy," he said, greeting Frodo with a hug. "Have a good day?"  
  
"Yes, and I got everything from the market."   
  
"Yes, I see," he said, glancing over to the table where Frodo had laid the sack. "Thank you for getting those for me. It'll make a nice stew for tonight."  
  
Frodo nodded in interest, though the thought of food was suddenly making him feel sick again.   
  
While Bilbo picked up the vegetables and began to head into the kitchen, Frodo paused a moment to lean against a drawer as the last ripples of nausea began to fade. Though he wasn't up to eating, a cup of tea sounded very desirous. Just a cup of tea, and he'd be fine.   
  
"So, how was your day?" Frodo asked, following his uncle into the kitchen.   
  
Bilbo groaned loudly, and Frodo couldn't help but laugh. Despite his best efforts, his uncle looked more funny than serious when he was angry.   
  
"Let me just say that they will be the last on the list of relatives you're bound to meet," Bilbo grumbled. Looking up at his nephew's amused, but curious face, he relented. "I'll save the story for later," he promised.   
  
Bilbo then moved to wrap, an arm around his nephew's shoulder, and Frodo smiled in secret triumph that he'd avoided having to tell him about his headache. His uncle suspected nothing.   
  
"Come, let's get supper started."   
  
TBC 


End file.
